


End of an Era

by Noctem31



Series: Alone Together [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Family Feels, Feels, Hurt Sherlock, Loneliness, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft To The Rescue, One Shot, Post-Wedding, Protective Mycroft, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Upset Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:05:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctem31/pseuds/Noctem31
Summary: Sherlock is dangerously close to traveling down a dark path after the wedding of John and Mary Watson. He is alone. His best friend will surely be much too busy with his new family, which means he has no one, or so he thinks.





	End of an Era

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place almost immediately after Sherlock leaves John and Mary's wedding.

_‘So, I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on’,_ is what his brother had said on the phone earlier that afternoon.

Sherlock hadn’t understood the significance of that statement.

He hadn’t understood... until the moment he had deduced Mary’s pregnancy.

Now he was leaving the wedding of his two best friends with a heavy weight on his chest. For once in his life his mind was nearly empty. There was only one thought running through his mind… _alone._

He was alone.

Sherlock used to enjoy being alone. He prefered it. Much like his older brother, he had once found emotions and attachments abhorrent. They distracted him from the work, the only part of his life that held any meaning. His work was the only distraction from his ever racing mind.

… At least that was how things were until John stumbled into his life. John had been a bright light shining into the darkness that surrounded him. He had given Sherlock’s life meaning and purpose. He showed Sherlock what it meant to be a human being, to love, and to be loved.

Of course John had never been anywhere near Sherlock’s intellectual level, but that had never mattered. John saw through him. He saw the man that was Sherlock Holmes, not just the brains and cold demeanor. He saw the loneliness that plagued Sherlock, and the longing the detective felt to be understood.

John had never once called him a freak like so many others had done in the past. The Army doctor had cared for Sherlock, and in turn Sherlock had fallen in love.

Of course he never told John that, and he never would. John loved Mary, and Sherlock truly admired her. Mary had saved John during his two year absence, and he would always be grateful to her for doing so. If John had proposed to anyone else, he would have tried to stop it, but with Mary it just wasn’t something he could do. John was happy with her, truly happy, and Sherlock would never destroy that happiness.

Several hours after leaving the wedding reception Sherlock found himself sitting on the roof of Bart’s Hospital, the very same place where he had once stood with Jim Moriarty. The very place he had stood and stared down at John’s small form on the pavement below before jumping to his ‘death’.

This time he didn’t plan on jumping. He couldn’t do that to John again, but he did lay down flat on his back to stare up at the night sky.

There was something about the way the moon and stars shined brightly above him that saddened him. He couldn’t help but selfishly think the sky should be cloudy and dark to match his foul mood. Normally the sight of the night sky had a calming effect on him. Normally it helped ground him, but right now it was having the opposite effect.

Sherlock sat up with a growl of frustration. He pulled on his hair, desperately wishing he could make the pain go away.

It was that desperation that made him take off his belstaff, and tuxedo jacket. He rolled up his sleeve, and pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket to write a note to Mycroft. They did have an agreement after all, and ever since that day, the day he came dangerously close to dying, Sherlock had kept his promise to Mycroft and wrote a note every time he used drugs.

He prepared everything slowly, trying to will himself to stop, trying to force himself to call Mycroft, or Molly, or even John. In the end he couldn’t do it. He needed this. He needed it to keep his sanity.

He tied the elastic band around his upper arm, and prepared to inject himself with the solution to his agony.

He took several deep breaths before bringing the needle to his arm, but just before it pierced his skin, a black leather gloved hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t Sherlock,” a strong voice said quietly.

Sherlock hung his head, and unshed tears burned in his eyes as the syringe was pulled from his grasp, and thrown far away on the roof. The elastic band was removed just as quickly, and tossed in the same direction.

The newcomer crouched down in front of him, and placed two fingers underneath his chin. Sherlock was forced to look up and meet Mycroft’s sad eyes. It was in that moment that Sherlock could no longer hold back the misery that was overwhelming him. A sob escaped him, and tears began flowing freely down his face.

Mycroft sat down beside him, and pulled him over so that his face was buried in the older man’s chest. Sherlock clung to his brother as if he were a liferaft in a churning sea as he cried. Part of him was humiliated to be seen like this by his brother, but another part of him was glad he had found him.

At the end of the day, it was always just the two of them. Mycroft was more of a parent than his real parents had ever been, and despite their many petty disagreements, Mycroft had always watched over him.

"Mycroft,” he choked out after a long while, trying to find words, but his brother just shushed him.

“Quiet now Sherlock,” he said as he tightened his hold on him. “As much as you like to believe, you are not alone. You never have been. John may be married now, and you may see less of him, but that doesn’t mean he is gone forever.  And besides that, you will always have me, brother mine. I will _always_ be there for you.”

Mycroft’s little speech made him cry even harder for some reason. “You were right. I’m sorry Myc…”

“Don’t be, Sherlock. You have nothing to be sorry for,” his brother promised.

They sat there like that for a long while, and they didn’t pull apart until Sherlock had calmed down.

Mycroft kept a hand on his shoulder after they pulled apart which helped ground him. Sherlock looked down at his hands which he closed tightly into fists. “You were right. Caring is not an advantage.”

“No I was wrong,” Mycroft said, and Sherlock looked up in surprise. Mycroft gave him a sad smile and said, “We are human, no matter how much we may pretend not to be. Human beings are social creatures by nature. It is programmed into our very beings to desire social contact from one another. It is difficult to be happy without it. You did the right thing befriending John, Sherlock. He made you happy, and he will continue to do so in the future. You may not see him as often, but he will still be there, just as I am here for you now.”

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Mycroft then stood from the ground, and picked up Sherlock’s belstaff and tuxedo jacket. He then held out a hand to the young detective to help him stand.

“You are coming home with me,” he stated in a tone that left no room for argument. “You can have one of the guest rooms. You cannot be alone right now.”

Normally he would have argued, or tried to escape, but he was too exhausted to do anything but follow his brother’s orders in that moment. Mycroft made him feel protected, and he was glad the man had saved him once more.  

Sherlock took his brother’s hand and was pulled to his feet. He overbalanced slightly, and almost fell over due to his exhaustion, but Mycroft wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady.

The older Holmes led him down the stairs of the hospital, and out to the waiting car. Once they were both seated inside Sherlock looked to his brother, just now noticing the deep bruising below his eyes, and the weariness in his expression.

“Mycroft,” he said. He waited for his brother to look at him and whispered, “Thank you.”

Mycroft’s eyes flashed with surprise for a second, before he nodded and looked forward. “Of course Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> Respectful feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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